


Royal Troubles

by lovelycherryblondelocks



Series: the kids in this house are loud [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Courtships, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycherryblondelocks/pseuds/lovelycherryblondelocks
Summary: "The tutors find them...""Obnoxious? Ill-mannered? – or, dare I guess, wicked?""Father prefers the term...troublesome."Or, Takeda Ittetsu is tasked to tutor three princes. He becomes somewhat of a matchmaker instead.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: the kids in this house are loud [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007316
Comments: 15
Kudos: 255





	Royal Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> so, uhm, yeah, i did something...? (let's pretend i know shit about royalties, tehe ;> heheh)
> 
> apologies for any errors, and as always, have a nice read <3

_*_

_Takeda-sensei,_

_It has come to the King's attention, given your respectable work and outstanding achievements, that you are perhaps the most suitable candidate for the princes' schooling. With your esteemed repute and stellar mastery of many skills, the King firmly believes you are worthy of such a position. We trust that you may uphold the duties you are assigned and that it may bring a fruitful resolution to our current predicament._

_Surely, with your admirable capabilities, the princes are in good hands._

_The fate of the kingdom relies on your teachings._

_Sincerely and with kind regards,_

_Sawamura Daichi_

*

Ittetstu Takeda is a simple man with the simplest of lifestyle.

His bearings are counted in silver, the golds too few to treasure. He does not have company to call his closest peers. The home he lives in is a modest two-story cottage hidden deep in the woods, where the bed creaks and the stairs groan. His work, though cited greatly by many studies, remains a bland, not-too-flamboyant subject for the gossipers.

Takeda lives simply. His clothing is humble. When he converses, his tone is timid. He does not linger too far from the forests or bask in the business of the streets. He does not wallow in the cacophonies of people but seek pleasant amusement from the woodland creatures. That is because Takeda lives in seclusion. Distant to the troubles of the world. Unbothered by the dramatics.

There is not an inch in his bones that wishes to live otherwise.

 _Being_ otherwise would mean disaster. Disturbance. A break from the comfortable normalcy. It is a privilege too valuable to dispose of. Takeda wouldn't wish to trade it for anything less.

_'Ittetsu Takeda,'_

– until the first prince of Karasuno had personally _pleaded_ for his aid, that is.

Takeda is not well-versed with the princes. The sources are limited to infer from. He only knows of their existence from the countless rumours that plague the townsfolk's hush. Betwixt the lengthy and abstruse paragraphs Takeda reads, he understands an infinitesimal part of the palace's residents.

Four young princes. All fair and comely. Many surmise the mighty futures of these royalties. One would persevere as the heir of the homeland's throne and pledge ownership of the west. The others, to be married off to rich kingdoms for the strengthening of alliances –quite the typical prospect, Takeda admits.

Countless books thought them lovesome. The King's royal following cite poems of admiration for the sons. Musicians, craftsmen and gallant warriors have nothing but praise for them. They are graced with many great talents. Their unchallenged wits never fail to pass the riddled tests of the scholars. Top of the ranks. Best of the best.

So Takeda is perplexed, how a family so highly cheered be scarce of willing tutors.

He poses the very curious query to Prince Sawamura, one crisp morning beneath the shade of Madame Putin's outlandish patio. Warm as the summer rays, the weather boils in anticipation. Truthfully, Takeda's interest is already sold.

"Are they terrible?"

For any common fella, to call the beloved princes as such would be a grave sin. But Takeda is neither one to care nor believe in the privileges of the noble blood. _It feeds the heedless ego_ , his mother's proverb warns.

A noteworthy tip: Takeda is simple, _not_ usual.

Prince Sawamura chuckles gleefully at the older's dubious regard. He is startled. A commoner's frankness is a feat too undermined in the palace, as his amusement proclaims.

"The tutors find them..." The uncertainty stalls, short of any positive adjectives.

Takeda, ever the wordsmith, offers helpfully, "Obnoxious? Ill-mannered? – _or_ , dare I guess, wicked?"

The Prince simpers. "Father prefers the term... _troublesome_."

"That's a bit deceiving, don't you think?" Takeda muffles the rest of his misgivings with a swift sip.

His company does the same, albeit sheepishly. "Sensei, they're not as bad as the former tutors say."

A brow twitches. Takeda does not spare him a second of reprieve. "Your eyes argue with your words, dear prince."

Perhaps he has been too forthright. Though, the man supposes he deserves honesty if he were to accept the offer. He is not moneyed. The funds for his studies have dwindled to a mere _three-zeroes_. And while this presented opportunity may promise him well, Takeda wishes to be certain for the sake of his own sanity. If the princes are anything but the fairytales boast, then Takeda is sure to meet a tumult.

 _Best be wary_ , as the adage preaches.

"They're simply impassioned–is what I want to say."

The assurance mutters diffidently, Prince Sawamura growing more and more uncertain. It's a rarity in itself, to find the man's surety slackening. And to have it diminish into a miserable slump is even more jarring than Madame Putin's peculiar fashion.

"Are they now?"

"Well, one prefers to be a warrior than a prince. The other abhors the family's wealth and the last – I quote, _refuses to be reduced to some balding creep's bed-warmer._ "

Takeda twitters in elation. "I reckon the last has been a great offence to Tanaka-san?"

"Undoubtedly." Prince Sawamura winces.

Spoons click against cups, two of Takeda's fingers unhook from the porcelain handle. He raises a brow, eager to quiz the other. "So tell me, why does it matter that I start now? I suppose the King isn't simply demanding my immediate attendance for punctuality's sake?"

"Not quite how you presume." The younger shakes his head. A tinge of discontent paints itself across the creases of his temple. Prince Sawamura stiffens, stern and direct, "In three weeks time, the suitors will arrive. It is to our disadvantage if the princes do not engage in the customary affairs by then."

Takeda brightens in recognition. "Courtship traditions?"

"Preparations are afoot." Lips smack together, laden with apprehension. "The only thing we are unprepared for is–"

"The princes' unwillingness?" Takeda graciously continues for him.

"I _beg_ of you Sensei. At this point, there will be no point in hoping for a miracle.We are in dire need of assurance."

Desperation is not a commonality among the wealthy. But Prince Sawamura presents himself as quite the contradiction. His tone implores and the elan of his grace withers to a concerning degree. _Uncharacteristically bashful,_ Takeda muses _._

"Don't beg. It's unbecoming of a man with such honours in his name." Warmly, Takeda intones, "You've got me immensely intrigued, your highness. I'd be more than happy to accept the challenge."

There is not a word to describe the prince's bliss. He pays the man with earnest gratitude, nearly fumbling as he shakes the older's hands. His grip is firm on Takeda's wrist. _I put my whole faith you_ , it means to announce.

Takeda, always the meticulous man, sets his plans apace.

 _I wish to not disappoint_ , his neatly-crafted parchments promise.

*

The receding footsteps of the eastern halls chimes terribly well with Takeda's clamorous strides. His watch clicks, miffed. _Thirty seconds, thirty-two, thirty-three..._

Takeda is many things but an early riser. Punctuality in his household had never been the greatest of priorities. In most instances, it was something uncanny to the Takeda name. Flaws run deeper than talents in their blood.

"Sensei, nice to finally meet you."

Takeda inhales sharply, throat barely able. The sheen of his white cloak billows from the chilly breeze. In his haste, two of his buttons loosened. "Sugawara-san. I apologise for the late entrance."

The man gestures a kind wave. "Please, take a seat. The princes will be here soon."

Takeda nods, grateful for the delay of his pupils' attendance. It would be a horrible shame if their arrival had been more than prompt. The princes are sure to expect prime entertainment from the tardiness of their teacher. Whatever sense of entertainment they assume of him, Takeda is soon to find out.

"Sensei?"

His momentary abstraction sends him to a stumble as he welcomes the open doors. What stands, a mere five handbreadths below the rich wooden thresholds, is a crowd of three, clad in the silkiest of garments with sleek, heeled-boots and tailored pants. Only from the very best seamstresses and shoemakers in the country, Takeda presumes.

They wear the same colour. Their poise commendable and grace unparalleled. And yet, there is still a distinct character about them. One appears scruffy, wispy sleeves rumpled and locks a blazing orange. His brothers, though taller and better presented, boasts glimpses of bruises in their scowling faces.

"A sour morning?" Takeda greets them cordially.

Suwagara-san acts the opposite. His tongue is pointed, eager to voice his displeasure. "Have you been fighting again?"

The tallest evades the squinted glare. He faces sideward, proud and defiant. Thankfully, his brothers are not as stubborn. They squirm in their place and fiddle with the loose strings of their embroidered cuffs, pursed lips remorseful and eyes coy. There is a difference in their dejection too, and Takeda watches vigilantly as they lean close to each other's sides.

Whatever squabble they were engaged in, they must have settled it by now.

"Dumb and dumber started it."

–well, _barely_ settled it. Expectedly, _dumb_ and _dumber_ took much offence. (There is a biased inkling in Takeda's bones that surmises _dumber_ might have been the ginger. Though, with how quickly the other bristled in distaste, the assumptions prove to be arguably inconclusive).

"Kei," comes the ominous warning. Sugawara-san straightens his posture as he nears the princes. Clearing his throat, he proceeds to advise, "I suggest you present yourselves more nicely next time. Now take your seats, you've kept your teacher waiting."

Correction: the teacher has dutifully waited for _only_ three minutes. Second correction: he had also been tardy. But, Takeda is not about to expose himself after just being spared from the trouble. Although the level of strictness is suspiciously lax, it proved to be immensely beneficial.

"It's nice to finally meet the famed troublemakers." Takeda jests. "I'm very much excited to teach you all you need to know –"

"Teach us?" Golden tufts of hair jerk sharply. The prince surveys him with wide astute eyes, fully intent on judging his intellect with the swiftest glance Takeda has ever witnessed. "What else should you teach us? I'm sure you know I've been doing _great_ in my studies. I don't believe supplementary classes are necessary."

"The King believes otherwise." Takeda rebuts.

"Well, Father has no right to force me."

"Kei –"

The prince departs without thought. His exit is guarded, drawing spikes for every thump of his soles. A startling moment later, the chill of the breeze thaws.

"Someone's on their period." His brother haughtily scoffs.

"Not now Tobio." Sugawara-san exhales in exasperation. "You both stay here. I'll fetch your brother." He bows to Takeda as he passes the marbled archway. Feeling apologetic, he gives the older a sincere look, "Good luck, Sensei. You'll need it."

Takeda nods hesitantly. As the doors close shut, shiny hinges groaning with a sound click, he returns his attention to his remaining pupils.

Prince Tobio sits idly by the corner's bookcase, disinterested. His brother stands at the other end, immersed in a gaudy painting. They welcome him with still silence as if to mean he'd been entirely forgotten.

"Will your brother come back?"

"Nope." The siblings nonchalantly chorused.

Right. Takeda has _much_ to do.

But, where should he begin?

*

**"for the most amused, less amused and barely amused – a rectification of royal troubles and questionable wardrobe choices,"**

"Quite the title, don't you think?"

Takeda peers through the disorder. He beams, behind the gloomy shade of his lofty, misaligned files, "They have got to rid themselves of those _horrible_ boots."

The King graces him with an easy smile. He stands upright with not a limp in his limbs. Though his skin glittered with colourful emblems, the littered scars still peek behind the fur of his cloak. Even in the dim, his comeliness stands stark. What changes is the gradual slouch of his shoulders, dwindling his height to a drowsy slack.

"Their mother's fault, not mine." He shrugs lightly.

Takeda snorts. "Don't blame the dead. You've raised them longer than she did. They certainly got it from your side."

For credible proof, he pointedly stares at the King's shoes.

"Let's agree it runs in the family." He supplies forgivingly.

The quip is met with an amiable grin. "I hear the first day has been eventful?"

Another document signed. Then, " _Very_."

"I trust you handled it well?'

Takeda nods. "Shouyou is a delight to teach. Tobio, _well_ , he's not as engaged as his brother but I commend his attendance nonetheless."

"Attendance?' The King strips his crown and sits as Keishin. Brash and temperamental Keishin. No longer the throne's master, but Takeda's old, grumpy companion. "Let me guess, Kei didn't come?"

The frames of Takeda's glasses slip as he hunches over a badly scribbled sentence. He corrects the man, slightly distracted, "He barely lasted a minute in the class before storming out. I do hope his hostility isn't personal? It would be hard to work with him if he dislikes me."

"Kei is inhospitable to everyone. He means well, he's just –"

"Impassioned?" Takeda provides. Absently, he flips through the next parchment, "Sawamura-san has told me a great deal about them. I believe Kei-san is the one who fiercely abhors marriage?"

Keishin sighs. The lines of his face contort, cringe evident in his expression. His fingers tap against the snug armchair. Takeda, always the observer, fondly notes of the way he struggles to calm his unease.

"That boy doesn't believe in romance." A tired yawn escapes the King's frown, two knitted brows ruminating. "He finds marriage an inconvenience. I suppose I'm partly to blame for that. A child raised by parents who do not love each other is sure to detest it later on."

The man returns a hum, contemplative. It would make a lot of sense if that were the reason for the case. Children may not show it but their intutions are shrewd. What they do not comprehend in words, they understand through feelings. Empathy has no place in the heart of most adults. Yet in children, they are most prevalent.

His heart aches with a stringent urge to feel for the younger. It must have been truly awful to lose your faith in love. And to learn of such reality through your parents' strained marriage — Takeda dares not to imagine how painful it must be for a child. Even so, he wouldn't be as audacious as to fault Keishin for the problem. It would be thoughtless of him to claim he fully understands. _Similar inference, different instances_ – no one is to be subjected to extreme scrutiny without impartial consideration. _Especially_ the resentful.

"His hatred is misunderstood," Keishin tells him, tender with his words. "I hope you can be more patient with him."

"Without doubt." Takeda answers surely.

*

**for the barely amused,**

Takeda meets the aloof prince in the cold peak of twilight. Sooner than expected and much too convenient for fate. He hides, in the bloom of the garden – not as the royalty clothed in luxury but a young boy of humble impression. And though the flowers gleam vibrantly beneath the thin veil of illumination, Kei glows the brightest.

A tranquil radiance caresses his troubled face, casting a fervid contrast to his dismal scowl. When he dips his head, eyes glued to the thick pages of a worn novel, the thorns wither and plant a lingering shadow. He is less guarded in the presence of the overcast. He is sublime under the fine lustre of the moon.

In an instant, as Takeda charily approaches, the serenity quells and drops almost severely. What replaces the calmness is strict tension.

"What are you doing here?"

The older gestures a polite greeting, "I was tasked to fetch you, your highness."

Thin brows furrow, "I am very capable of returning on my own. I don't need your aid."

"Then I believe you are also capable of attending classes, are you not?"

The prince gapes, struck by the bluntness. With a leaden tilt of the head, he begins to retort, "I already told you that's unnecessary. Father knows I'm capable of learning on my own."

"That might be true." Takeda taps on a vine. "You are a bright child – as your brothers boast. However, it's still a little lonesome to learn all by yourself."

Kei's downturned lips evince a mocking sound. Faintly, he poses, "And you really think I'd prefer my brothers' company than my own?

Ah. _That._ Takeda nearly forgot about the pretence. "You don't get along with them, do you?"

"Nope. Their very existence annoys me." The boy freely answers.

Takeda grins secretly at the admission. Everyone in the palace has warned him about this little lie. Prince Sawamura himself went out of his way to personally lecture him of the prince's inclinations. Prince Kei, despite his feigned hostility, bears an obstinate denial for his siblings.

 _"He loves them very much."_ Sawamura had persistently comforted. _"Kei may be many bitter things but as an older brother, he is nothing but caring."_

"I'm sure they do," Takeda remembers the reminders and speaks with a teasing inflection.

The boy huffs but makes no utterance to reject the implication. "Why are you still here?"

Takeda takes a brazen move and sits across the bench of the clandestine gazebo. Vines wrap around the pillar that he leans on and their leaves rustle as Takeda reclines further.

He speaks unconcernedly, brimming with ease, "I will not leave without the young prince."

The resounding slam of a book disrupts the peace. Kei offers three blank blinks, the last more sluggish than the others.

"Your choice." The prince mumbles with an arrogant raise of the nose.

"And _your_ choice," Takeda intones. "Is it worth the stubbornness?"

The blonde shifts in confusion. The perpetual glower in his face urges Takeda to elaborate, "You must be tired, staying guarded all the time."

"You don't know anything." Kei hisses. He pins the older with a narrowed glare, fraught with acrid contempt.

Takeda wisely parries the assault of his prickly resistance. Eyes flittering, he catches the glint of leather in the prince's hands. Silverdust embeds itself in its frayed edges. Some pages are torn and most creased. The book is rustic, redder in the hold of pallid fingers and darker in the shadows of the dim.

With his acute memory, the older starts to cite a cherished paragraph of his, _"He is hidden in the thorns of his own constraints. He bathes in his fear, evasive of a future unseen. The boy, no younger than the cacophonies of infinite misgivings, believes no love is true – believes no love exists."_

Kei hearkens to every utterance. Wonder paints the disinterest of his expression. As resonant stillness heightens with scrutiny, the prince feebly teeters behind the protection of his grandiose walls.

"You've read the book." He ponders aloud.

Takeda nods as he replies, "The Bloom of Lovegarden. A wonderful romance."

"The first?" Kei inquires. Suddenly, he acts less reserved. He listens with rapt intent.

"All three of them." Takeda happily answers. The first, his mother read for him, the second he read for his siblings and the last, he wrote for the orphans of his hometown, Edith. "Such a pity it isn't well known. Frankly, I didn't expect the prince would have a copy of it. I hear he's not a fan of fairytales."

A playful huff, and the boy adjusts in his seat with little reluctance, "There's nothing wrong with trying new things once and a while."

"And what other new things have you not tried?"

"Deciding my own marriage." The tone dims.

Takeda sags at the prospect. He sighs too, just as dreamily as the hush of Kei's pause. Oh, what a joy would it be to do away with tradition. It's often the wish of the wealthy. _Golden shackles_ , as Keishin vaguely describes.

But, Takeda likes to employ a bit of hope for the quandary. The ways of the commoners, as is practised.

"I'm sure your father would be happy to listen to your decisions." He offers, the pat of his palm warm atop the boy's feathery locks. There's not a shortage of conviction in his promise as he continues, "The courtships are only meant to help you. If the suitors are not up to your standards, you are free to decline."

The Prince believes the opposite. "That's what they all promise."

"Your highness," Takeda begins. The hoarseness in his throat clears, ready to preach with much emphasis. "It may not be the most romantic, or the most comfortable, but love is love no matter the setting. Who's to say you won't feel it with one of your suitors? Your father says it's _quite_ a line."

– and it's not an exaggeration. The countless letters addressed to the palace could make a new mountain with their lofty stack. Prince Kei is never out of admirers.

"How do you know?"

Takeda's ears perk, "Pardon?"

"How do you know if it's love?"

He takes a long while to contemplate. Gears turning and gyrating, Takeda immerses himself in the stream of many, _many_ words. His library has a heap of romance novels to borrow from, and studies to base a definition on. But still, his sources feel inadequate.

Really, how does one know?

_You don't know it. You feel it._

As if in a flash, Takeda remembers his mother's adage. Kei heeds to his delay in contained excitement, tapping his soles, drumming a rhythm and twining his frail fingers around a loose stem.

"I'm no poet, your highness. But I do know love is more than just the flutter of the heart." Takeda takes his time to deliver the thoughts well. "Love is in your faith. To be without it is to be without love."

The prince does not nod. But the leaden blink of his eyes and the stutter of his breath conveys much of what he feels.

"When you find that love exists in you, soon you _will_ feel it too."

*

The wind catches the whispered promise and arrives with a gift.

Suave and zestful Tetsurou, the charming Prince of the West, comes strutting down the hallway's entrance. He arrives in a black carriage, fancy gold in the soles of his shoes and glinting rubies in his furry cloak.

"He only comes here for one reason and one reason only." Shouyou, the helpful informant, tells him of the havoc Prince Tetsurou brings. "He wants to pursue Kei."

Takeda could only gape at the revelation. "Is that a bad thing?"

Reclusion exempts the uninformed from cold judgement. And so his pupils (sans the usually tardy Kei), though profoundly astounded, are more forgiving for the lack of awareness.

"It _is_." Shouyou stresses. "The prince of Nekoma has paid our brother persistent visits these past few months – _without_ fail. If he keeps this up any longer, he'll soon have a place at that evil witch's graveyard –"

"He's being dramatic." Tobio intervenes. "There's no graveyard."

"You're underreacting!" Shouyou cries as he clings to his brother's collar. "Haven't you heard of the countless men he's sent crying? He even made the general's son retreat from their position!"

"The son had it coming. He was a spoilt, naive kid." Tobio scrunches in disgust, unbridled grouch in clear display, "Well, still _is_."

"Then what about that mighty warrior from Edgarda?"

"Oh please, he was no mighty warrior. His ego simply couldn't handle the rejection." Huffing, Tobio frees himself from the shorter's firm grip. "I don't even know why they bother so much. Kei has made it clear he wants to die a shrivelled, _husband-less_ old witch. He even prepared black cats to go along with his haunted castle."

"Be kind." Takeda reminds him. "Now tell me, how is it a bad thing to have a relentless suitor who admires you very much?"

"The Prince of Nekoma is sincere in his pursuit but Kei doubts his intentions. He's made infinite attempts to swoon the other. As you'd expected, Kei has declined all of them. His efforts are admirable but our brother is not made for that sort of thing." Shoyou hangs his head dejectedly as if to sympathise. "I wish he'd stop trying so much, I always feel bad every time Kei turns him down."

"He asked for it." Tobio reasons. "These fawning fools ought to learn already."

Takeda hums thoughtfully. _Perhaps, Prince Tetsurou is a different breed._

*

_"How could a maiden so fair be short of any lover?"_

_"My dear, she must be one dishonest fella!"_

\- **The Bloom of Lovegarden,**  
**BOOK ONE**

Takeda has wrongly understated his presumptions. Prince Tertsurou is not a different breed of the planet – dear heavens, the man is an alien.

A tall and handsome man, with an air mystery and a scent of mist and pine. He puffs his chest as he walks, he cackles a pleasant and sonorous return to acknowledge the palace's greetings and he straightens his shoulders as he ganders at the source of his untethered affection.

With common peers, he is exuberant. Among the high ranks, he is adept in a myriad of endeavours. But, in presence of the younger prince, Tetsurou is a floundering mess.

The tip of his imaginary tail wags as he trails after the ever indifferent Kei. His reservations wane and all that is left is a charmed man.

The prince never loses sight of the younger's icy footprints. He follows him to the garden, where the crisp morning shines the hottest, and clings by the younger's side. He recites to him his lovesick musings. He sings too, love songs after love songs, with a bouquet of the finest flowers in his hand. Dainty petals swing to his melody. Even when the notes do not hold the most pleasing tune, there is still an appeal to the syllables Tetsurou bellows.

The bold and brazen treasure of the west – is a smitten man in the prince's unwilling grasp.

 _"Watch out for him Sensei,"_ Sugawara-san had warned. _"That prince is trouble."_

Takeda absorbs the warnings with a biased suspicion. Surely, if two of the most important people in the palace are wary of him, Takeda must not take things lightly.

He learns later on that their words are not as truthful. Not in the way Takeda had predicted. When he finds himself conversing with the prince, the warnings are revised.

"I tease them often. Sugawara-san especially finds me bothersome because of it." Tetsurou corrects the notions. He offers a glass of wine, a vibrant red that Takeda declines hastily.

"I'm worried I'm giving you the same impression."

"Not at all." Takeda tells a smooth lie. "I'm honoured that you've given time to personally ask for my company."

The prince had been the first to approach, bearing gifts heavier than the sum of Takeda's earnings. He had greeted him with a courteous invitation, eager for a good chatter by the hall's many patios.

"My Kei has never talked so much about another person."The man begins, and Takeda notes of the tinge of jealousy in his words.

Placidly, to soother the other's sullen reluctance _,_ Takeda debunks the assumption. "He is a clever student. I'm flattered I've left him with a good impression of myself."

"Any person worth my Kei's attention is a friend of mine."

The glint in Tetsurou's eyes certainly meant _competition_.

Yet again, Takeda dodges the implication with a giggle.

"No need to worry, your highness." He says, pure and knowing. The softness of his tone placates the man's incredulity. "Believe me, Prince Kei only has his focus set on sleep and books. There's not a space in there to squeeze in a teacher." 

Tetsurou chuckles handsomely, "I've been trying to squeeze myself in for months." 

"So why the persistence?" mutters the curios query.

The man steals a sip from his silver glass. With a sound hush no fainter than the maidens' dins from below, he begins to soften his words and recites a familiar line, _"Tell me, shouldn't love be felt rather than understood? Is it of utmost importance to describe a feeling too monumental to discern? Is it of prime necessity to –"_

_"–restrict love to a jumble of phrases?"_

Takeda meets the startled eyes of his company. Tetsurou quizzes him with a similar question.

"You've read the book?"

"Cited every line as a child." Takeda boasts.

Tetsurou jolts, entranced. Sprightly, he adds a modicum of detail Takeda never anticipated, "My grandfather gifted me all three books. I gave Kei the first. I thought if he wouldn't believe my words, he'd at least believe my feelings. They're all inscribed in those lengthy pages, you see."

A bewildered gasp flees from Takeda's silence. He suppresses the squeal that fills his lungs as he remembers the pages in Kei's caring hold, treasured and well-kept. With sincere approval, Takeda lands a heartfelt pat on Tetsurou's disheartened shoulder.

"I'll be cheering you on." He encourages. "The prince will feel it too."

"Hopefully." Tetsurou breathes out a sigh of blithe reverie.

The brown of Takeda's gaze twinkles. "Oh, _definitely_."

*

Takeda reflects the words of the palace and deems them utterly misleading. So he decides to adhere to his own observations. What the impartial mindfulness brings is a beautiful discovery.

Prince Kei, as Takeda ascertains, is not a frigid, impassive, affectless _witch_. He hides a magic, that much is true. Though his lure is powerful, it only chooses to bewitch a few, cherished crowd. The King, his bothersome brothers, and just as bothersome aids – _and_ the always present, always buoyant, unyielding Tetsurou.

It's a laborious chore to investigate the younger. The prince conceals more than he reveals. One has to be severely critical when attempting to read the other. Kei's elusive nature demands only the most vigilant. Takeda is admittedly below the standards of his requirements but he is fiercely devoted.

Often, he fails to pick up on the minuscule cues, but he is not one to miss the crucial ones either – like the flush of pale knuckles or the shyness in terse nods, the sweet and blissful flutter of lashes and the dishonest in the dismissive shrugs– Takeda notes the hidden gestures of Kei's affection.

Kei falters when the man closes a distance. Kei hastens when the man stuns him with a compliment. Kei fumbles when the man offers him yet another bouquet. Roses and tulips. Daffodils and daisies. And when he's fooled by the absence of an audience, Kei hums a happy tune to every flower he keeps.

Kei is honest when no one is watching. Takeda is sure he is most certainly endeared by Tetsurou.

Believing it to be a needless ruse, Takeda boldly chides the prince for his secrecy. "You have to be more honest, your highness."

The thought is humoured by a rarity. Prince Kei recovers from his befuddlement and regards the man with a sense of foreboding. He links a finger around a healthy stem, gingerly stashing them away in one of the many vases of his windowsills.

"You're nosy." Kei comments with no ill-feeling.

"And you're stalling." Takeda invites himself inside the large and open chamber. "Do you plan on reciprocating?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Takeda narrows his sight on the colourful array of petals. Through the mumble of the evening breeze, Takeda sees each petal gleam. "Is that so? Well, I do hope the flowers do."

Kei grumbles. He purses his lips as his forehead crinkles –a petulant display for the unaffected. "I-I'm not yet sure."

"Of what you feel?" Takeda urges.

"No." Kei surprises him. "I feel _it_. I do. But...what if it doesn't last?"

The man nods in understanding. "Your parents' marriage is not yours. There's not a need for you to bear the failure."

"It could happen to me." The prince insists. "What if he loses interest? What if he finds out I'm too boring for him and he gets tired of me? What if –"

"You ought to know that fear is a constant thing, your highness. The mind can trick us into believing we are not brave enough for it. In times when our fear overwhelms us, we must learn to trust our hearts."

"You make it sound so easy," mutters a resigned reply.

Takeda chuckles in a sage sort of manner. "You want to decide your own marriage, don't you? The choice is yours. Will you or will you not take the chance?"

Doubt lingers in the prince's movements. For a moment, only the cries of the gloom speak. Silence pervades the room and Takeda plants his sight on the younger.

"I want to try." Kei whispers quaintly, but his gaze flickers with resolve. "I _will_ try."

*

"K-kei is talking to the prince of Nekoma! He's talking to the prince of Nekoma!"

"Yes Shouyou, we see it too."

"S-sensei, he's smiling. The witch is smiling."

"Remarkable observation, Tobio."

"Does this mean Kei is going to marry the guy?"

Takeda pauses, ruminative. "If the prince proves himself worthy."

Tobio tilts a curious chin. "Hasn't he proven himself enough times already?"

"Then I suppose the answer is definite."

*

Love blooms in the first days of Spring.

Kei finds a match a week before the suitors' arrival.

Left with two uninterested princes, Takeda begins to reconsider a plateful of his plans.

This time, possessed by a random inkling, Takeda decides to hang on to hope. The peak of his intuition guides him to one unlikely match.

*  
**for the less amused** ,

Prince Tooru of the North is known for many great things. He brags an outstanding list of achievements and the crowd peers expectantly at his gaudy affairs. They are most engaged in his uncanny thinking and outlandish fashion. Whatever he eats, wears, reads, the heedful followers consume. The invest in reading novels of his likes and dislikes, his pertinacious allies and vehement foes – anything he does, the spectators scrutinize.

They exhaust themselves, praising and exalting a prince as if he were a deity.

Takeda already assumes the prince is a comely man, young and valiant – perhaps, he is much like Prince Tetsurou. The giggles of the rumours clearly made that evident. Half of his prominence pay much attention to his flamboyant charms. The rest to his winsome smile. Truly a fresh face among the old and jaded royalties.

What he is not most known for is his –in the acrid words of Kei and Tobio combined – pompous, narcissistic, _infinitely_ obnoxious ego. Equipped with the bitterest ramblings he's ever heard, the princes are anything but princelike with their descriptions. Far from the fawning ladies and fuming men. Far from envy but close to unhinged animosity. There is only a cauldron of seething annoyance for the man.

And to think Prince Tooru is yet to make an appearance.

"I brought up an issue I shouldn't have," Tetsurou mumbles through gritted teeth. It's his third visit for the week. Takeda understands the last thing he wants is to be bombarded with the relentless mention of another man's name from his match's lips. (' _Perks' of a devoted lover_ , Sawamura-san childishly taunted).

For the first time, Shouyou is the one to apologize for his clueless brothers, "They just have intense feelings for him. Kei _really_ hates his guts."

Plagued with a sudden bit of intrigue, Takeda eventually caves in, "And Tobio?"

His student inches closer with expert stealth. He cups a hand as he whispers to the other, "I'm not supposed to tell anyone but... when we were seven, Tobio tried to confess to Tooru-san and got rejected. Tooru-san was _pretty_ mean about it. He told Tobio he'd never married someone as simple and boring as him. Since then, Tobio has vowed to hate all princes on the planet."

Tetsurou crinkles his nose with a baffled objection. A trace of dislike pulls on his lips as he nods the disquiet away.

"No man should ever break someone's heart with unkind words." He offers his remarks with a cheerless frown, disappointment evident in his expression. "That guy was unnecessarily harsh."

Shouyou sighs dreamily, "Sometimes I wonder why you like my brother. You know, it's not too late to reconsider."

The rest of his speech is interrupted by an ominous glare. Kei's eery gait advances towards the smaller's cowering shadows, lacklustre skin dipped in a scathing threat.

"Say that again you orange piece of–"

"Greetings, gremlins!"

Just then, the hinges of the doors creak open. The loud disruption announces the arrival of their new, unexpected visitor. He stands, taller than the marble statues, a swaggering cosmic marvel equipped with a sharp gaze and smug grin. The figure emerges as elegantly as one could be in the morose murk of the overcast dusk.

Takeda examines the novelty before him, mind whirring with distrust. Attractive faces are meant to be questioned.

" _Ugh_ , here comes the true witch of ego-town."

From behind him, Takeda hears Tetsurou sneak in a cheeky, "I thought the witch title was your thing."

The last Takeda hears before Tobio's tumultuous escape is Tetsurou's pained groan.

*

Tooru of the North is as dubiously dogged as his kingdom's renowned and eminent repute. If there is a simple definition to ever grace the man's exceptionality, it would be, in Takeda's vocabulary for the unaware, _royally_ _mischievous_.

"Just call him bratty, sensei." Kei imposes his correction.

"We have to add some fancy flair to the title." Takeda tuts jokingly. "It won't do his pride justice if we do otherwise."

Tetsurou places a hand on Kei's shoulder. "Careful sensei, your sarcasm has influence." 

"Quiet children," Takeda absently instructs. "Amuse me for a while. If Tooru-san finds Tobio _oh-so-boring_ , why is he clinging to him now? And can anyone tell me why my student is acting all evasive?"

Shouyou blinks. "I didn't think you'd be so invested, sensei."

"Trust me, he likes to probe," Kei tells him.

Provided with sparse information, Takeda decides to drown their chatters. He instead finds himself drawn to the scene before them, where a flippant Tooru latches on to the stomping footsteps of Tobio – gloomy and sparkly. Like salt and sugar, except Kei claims sugar to be rotten. At first glance, the farce is nothing but a friendly display. If Takeda were any fool he would have mistaken the interaction as two friends merely reminiscing and basking in the thrill of nostalgia. One feigning irritation for the other, as if denied of his freedom to ignore the jests and jeers.

Tobio looks every bit affronted by the older's existence, but he shows no real resolve in his avoidance. There's not as much effort to veer away from the bustle or enough rancour to deflect the taunts. Push and pull. Set from afar then suddenly mere inches away.

Tooru pesters Tobio. Tobio, though pestered, never shies away from the older. His skin even _reddens_. Tobio's smooth, milky _unflagging_ skin _reddens_ with fond exhaustion _._

 _Nothing to suspect_ , Takeda's mind would supply. Except there is _much_ to suspect.

Tobio for his skittish behaviour and Tooru for his questionable motives (whatever they are). The undeniable attraction, the feigned enmity and mistake chasm (that, if Takeda were to evaluate, does not exist at all) – a recipe for a rational accusation.

Takeda is once again alarmed. Because Prince Tooru of the North, bodacious and finical Tooru, is just as persistent (if not more) as Tetsurou. And yet the many sceptical warnings deem his unfaltering obstinacy as anything but romantic. Hidden malice. Twisted humour. But never secret admiration.

 _Impossible_.

Youthful years spent on writing about senseless amours and heartsore pinings in the dead of the night – and for it to be so useful at this very moment, Takeda is beyond grateful.

He does not deny that he knows the most about love in the palace. Their obliviousness has long been established, so Takeda finds no culpability in failing to believe in their admonitions. The people's initial notions of Kei had been erroneous anyway, so who's to say they are not blatantly wrong about Tooru-san as well?

He cannot disregard the probability that the prince's preceding reputation is a _slighted misconception._ Suppose it's a slander the Prince is yet to right himself.

"I have to say sensei, you put too much faith in me."

The rare appearance of modesty is what proves Takeda right. The rarer view of Tobio drowsily melting in the other's accustomed embrace is what ultimately seals evidence.

"The prince is comfortably sleeping on your shoulder, your highness – I find _this_ a trustworthy indication."

He holds a conversation with the other under the same pavilion (beloved hiding spot of Kei's that has long been opened to guests since the arrival of Prince Tetsurou).

"Tobio-chan challenged me to a duel and tired himself out." As he explains, the younger stirs in his sleep. Tooru breathes out a fond snicker at his soft snores, " _Ugly_."

Takeda nibbles on his parched lips, throat constricting out of guilt. He feels like an awkward intruder, an audience not meant to watch at all.

Tooru spares him the trouble with a casual cough, "I'm conflicted you aren't a bit restive with me. This place often finds my company, _say_ , taxing."

"The palace likes to gossip. I'm not one to rely too much on their sources."

The prince simpers, "I reckon Kei-chan had the most to say about me?" 

Feeling humorous, Takeda answers, "Second only to Tobio himself."

Tooru sighs, wistful. "Tobio-chan harbours strong feelings for me, I see."

"I heard you're the reason for his bitter notion of marriage." Takeda returns, partly chary. "Possible but still uncommon, given your tremendous fame as a gentleman among men."

His company drops his calm guise and deepens his frown, "I was just a kid. Any spoilt kid would have done a more distasteful rejection."

"That might be right. But I see now you're still stuck to your old ways."

Tooru huffs, "They say you don't hold back on royalties."

Takeda lilts his tone as he replies, "Why should I? I'm tasked to resolve royal troubles, after all."

"Then humour me, sensei. How exactly should one fix a _royal trouble_? I have a predicament you see, and it's been bothering me for _years_."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, your highness. But does this particular predicament pertain to a person?"

Hazel meets hazel. Two gazes read each other. As the darker orbs glisten, Tooru relents.

"I like someone but I _was_ too stupid to notice it and now I feel like I've ruined all my chances."

Nonplussed by the prince's frankness, Takeda begins to shift. He does it ever so gently, afraid to disrupt Tobio's restful slumber. The man then stills in his seat, mindlessly as if he were rummaging through a heap of constructive thoughts. What does he say exactly? Should he quote a proverb? Cite a paragraph? _Do better? Be better?_

After a minute of inattention, Takeda comes to an acceptable conclusion. He proposes, less frantic, "I suppose you could start by being a little kinder."

"That's too simple."

"Simple is efficient. Why dawdle on the complexities?" With a scintillating grin, the older throws a cursory glance at Tobio, "You're too old to be pulling pigtails, Tooru-san."

*

_"They say when a child is especially mean to someone, they hide an adoration for them."_

_"That's just an excuse for mean behaviour!"_

_"–or an excuse for undivided attention."_

\- **The Bloom of Lovegarden,**  
**BOOK TWO**

An extravagant ball is held at evenfall. Karasuno's princes are presented beautifully to the gawking crowd. Clad in slim-fitted pants and frilly sleeves, draped with a veil that dangles and crowned with diamonds that glister – a festive treat for the idle night. Perfect, winsome princes kindling the hollow spaces of the party. Not a single flaw to flaunt to the masses.

Still, the stolen gasps of the inquisitive spectators could not compare to Tobio's _sole_ admirer for the evening. Not to say he is short of eager suitors, but Prince Tooru beckons the most attention for his parted lips and smitten eyes.

He is struck by the younger's presence– enthralled, beguiled, enchanted – and he shows no shame in conveying the adoration. Pity, Tobio's blissful nescience is a chagrin for the other.

"You're drooling, Tooru-san." Takeda gibes.

Oblivious Tobio titters, unaware of the implications. For the younger, it's just another jab to mock the prince.

Tooru, however, is more mindful of his observation. He hides his embarrassment with the swift chug of his beverage. Seconds after, he faces Tobio, a blush on his cheeks as he stammers, "I-it's just nice to know you can actually look decent if you tried."

Tobio is understandably miffed by his unwise quip. He departs, with two clenched fists and a creased temple, mumbling a sour, "Not like I'm dressing up for you."

Kei sneers at the usual scene. He acts as a commentator, a mocking emphasis on the awry tension. "Oh my, the future king of the north doesn't know how to give a compliment? How unusual."

"Jeez, you really lack delicacy when it comes to Tobio, don't you?" Shouyou chimes in from his place by the long table, cheeks full as he messily scarfs down the last piece of his chicken. He lacks just as much tact, but Takeda is not about to ruin his meal for him.

Tooru squawks, balance unsteady, "I didn't mean to offend!"

"I'm sure you didn't." Takeda sympathises. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have a prince to appease."

His trek towards the centre is a discomfiting venture. Heels rap against the even tiles and ornate accessories jingle in his ears. A crowd mills about just below the luminous rays of the chandelier, chattering with one another in unfavourable volumes. Though the music plays its most melodious tune, the place is still in disarray. Some imbibing scented liquors by the sidelines, others thumping resonant beats on their tables – the bored and the amused within the effervescent bounds of the wide expanse.

Takeda nods to a few recognisable guests but does not linger for a conversation. He picks up his lethargic pace and doubles it to catch the prince before his exit. In three hurried steps, Takeda reaches Tobio just in time for the next chorus.

"May I?" He offers a hand, a palm to greet the languid air and the other on the arch of his back.

Tobio draws in a sharp breath, "You're asking me for a dance?"

"Unless you're not comfortable with dancing with a teacher. Some do find that embarrassing."

"I don't care about that." Tobio protests. "I... I didn't think anyone would want to dance with me."

"Nonsense." Takeda takes the hand that lays hesitantly on his palm. He grips it firmly, the tips of his fingers ticklish from the kisses of chafed and calloused pads. Frail lines trace weary indents, Tobio's hands growing warmer and warmer in elation as the rhythm loudens. Their soles embark on a free journey to the centre of the crowd, mellifluous hums coursing through their veins.

Takeda ganders at the swaying bodies, where he chances upon a glint of orange and stark yellow. He sees Shouyou dance with a man taller than his height. Clumsy and timid – and a smidgen of an enigma. The man moves as if he wishes to be anywhere but here and yet he still indulges his partner. Two gaunt arms unfurl from their stiffness, enveloping Shouyo's slender figure as if to relish his warmth. Takeda squints attentively and realises the stranger to be Prince Kenma, famed strategist of the north, second to the throne and just as exceptional as his brother.

"Kenma-san is a good friend of Shouyou's." Tobio provides for him.

 _Oh_. A friend? Takeda arches his brow at the term. It won't take long to prove it wrong. But for now, Takeda has other pressing matters to attend to.

So with a steady footing, Takeda mentions cautiously, "Tooru-san sends his apologies."

Tobio's face contorts into one of agitation. He evinces a derisive scoff, meant to demean the prince's supposed effort.

"As if. That guy's ego doesn't know a thing or two about apologising."

Their legs glide to the strum of a high note. "You never know."

"You put too much faith in him, sensei."

"We can't judge too quickly now, can we?"

"Believe me, I've known him all my life."

"Perhaps, you're yet to know everything." Takeda quirks his lips. The steps transition into a slower pace, a taciturn shift from the once lively ambience. "If I may ask, your highness – back then when I asked you for a dance...why did you think no one would invite you?"

Tobio chews on the parched skin of his lips. His gaze fidgets and withdraws from the comfortable brilliance. The rigid shock of an unexpected question pushes him to a slight stupor. Still, he manages to gain composure again. This time, the apprehension is less pronounced.

"I'll never be a good husband." The prince says, almost as an exclamation. His uptight shoulders shrug and slump as if resigned. "I'm not as charming as Shouyou, o-or clever as Kei. I'm not pretty either. No one would want to dance with a _bland_ man, much less marry them, would they?"

Takeda clicks his tongue, perplexed by the boy's insecurities. Prince Tobio is many things but a dull and drab person. No one should dare to disagree. And for it to be challenged by the prince himself brews an undesirable prickle in his stomach. Takeda shall have none of that.

So he says, with not a hint of incertitude, "That's too conventional for an unconventional marvel such as yourself."

Tobio perks from the subtle reproach. He looks nearly appalled –in great disbelief of a compliment that may be an oddity for him. This too, Takeda disapproves.

"Do not undermine your value, Prince Tobio –lest you want to land in the hands of a foolish man. You may not be what you think a good husband is, but someone out there thinks of you as more. Someone out there wants Tobio and _only_ Tobio."

Something akin to bewilderment rises from the boy's torpid eyes. He looks _almost_ incited, though still in utter doubt of the older's words. The trembles of his limbs reveal that he is yet to be fully convinced. Almost but not quite. Betwixt comforted and ruffled.

Takeda readies himself for an adamant rebuttal, but what comes instead is a wary tap on his shoulders. Takeda and Tobio both avert their gaze to the interruption, met with the coy and bashful smile of Prince Tooru.

"May I have the next dance?" He asks to Tobio. Patiently, he waits for an answer.

When he feels the grip loosen on his shoulders, Takeda willingly frees the prince. He hands the man two flushed palms. The fingers are jittery from the new touch.

With one last pat, Takeda disentangles himself from the hold of unsure knuckles. _Soon_ , the caress seems to promise.

*

In the garden, where many romances are nurtured. Takeda witnesses yet another love blossom.

The matches are fixed. Courtships are in place.

All that is left is for one prince to concede.

In his years of teaching, Takeda never thought he would find himself stuck on the indecision of his most enticing pupil yet.

*  
**for the most amused,**

_"Warriors have no need for marriage."_

Slash, sprint then hop!

_"They are saviours with honour in their names–"_

Whip, leap then slide.

_"Warriors have no need for –"_

A stumble, close to a fall, and Shouyou rolls to the ground, where the end of his stunt sends him kneeling right before Takeda and his shuffled pile of notes.

"Sorry sensei!" Shouyou scrambles to pick up the papers led astray by the warm winds. In his haste, the strings of his sword dangle. His blade drops with a sound clamour– loud enough to startle the serenity.

Takeda raises a hand. Leisurely, he reprimands the boy. He's used to this by now, not as easily as perturbed as before.

Shouyou beams at him with a sheepish flash of the teeth, beads of sweat clinging close to his stained sleeves and scruffy pants. The rays of the sun do his elegance justice, but his clothes are a pitiful contrast.

"I was just practising a new move."

"Be careful with the blade. The King might behead me if he sees you any blood out of place."

Shouyou flexes his muscles and raises a fist, "I am a warrior. A simple wound cannot hurt me!"

Inspired by the blaze of his blade, he begins to play with his weapon again. Much like a child frolicking in the garden.

"Always energetic," Takeda mutters.

It has become of a habit for the youngest prince to recite proverbs after proverbs from the Edgardan's _Way of the Warriors_. The restful hours meant for one to wallow in listless naps and bask in afternoon rays, are used instead to dawdle on zealous _endeavours_. No time for luxury, just rigorous training.

Shouyou spends his break reenacting barbarous battles and dramatic plays of death and honour. His unconfined verve enthuses a collection of onlookers. Their spot, beneath the shade of a willow tree, teems with jovial chants. They echo throughout the green clearing as if to cheer him on his imaginary quest. 

Some birds chirp and twitter, squirrels yip and cats mewl. Leaves whistle and twigs quake. The rest, including Takeda himself, could only sigh in fond exasperation.

The ceaseless enthusiasm makes him wonder however, if there is a repose to it. Or, perhaps if there even is a need for one. Does he not feel it? The pressure of progress? The temptations of respite? Is he assaulted by a barrage of _why's_ and _how's_ or does he simply live his days like a fantasy? The last seems to be the most probable resolution. But is the prince content with such a life?

"My brothers are gonna leave me behind, aren't they?" 

Shouyou broaches the unasked questions after an hour of failed stunts. His legs screech as he crouches in front of the older, scraped elbows and bruised cheeks in plain view. When he leans, frisky fingers limp against his knees, Shouyou's unshaken tone wanes into a meek and lowly tremble. 

"Are you feeling lonely?" Takeda closes his book shut. He motions for the boy to come closer, patting an empty spot filled with crusty leaves and sickly twigs.

"A little." Shouyou plops down the offered space and lolls his head to gape at the blue horizons. "Funny, for a long time I thought they'd be the last to marry. And now they're acting like lovesick fools. All the flirtin' and dancin' - I don't even get to annoy them anymore! Those stupid princes have stolen my brothers away!"

Takeda hums. "It must be a little boring to be the only one without a match."

Shouyou harrumphs, not one to miss the shameless bait. "I don't need a match. Besides, I have you with me, sensei. Or are you going to leave me too?"

"That should be the least of your worries, Shouyou." Takeda gently scolds him.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not going to my student forever, are you?" A saccharine melody seeps through the silky reeds. Takeda stares ahead, captivated by the horizon. He sees a dash of sprinting lines stretch across the vastness and they speak to him of a big, _big_ world. Shouyou is just a speck among those twinkling stars. And yet, Takeda cannot imagine him being elsewhere.

In truth, Shouyou is not fit for the mundane. He is not one to lead a humdrum life. He is meant for something else.

"So tell me, Shouyou – what do you want to do?"

*

("You see a great deal of yourself in him, don't you?"

"Frankly, I feel like he and I are made of the same dreams."

"You think he'd live in a cottage and read books all day?"

"I think he'd live a more thrilling life than that.")

*

_"There is a path meant only for one traveller."_

_"Wouldn't that be a lonely venture?"_

_"Oh darling, we each have our own ventures to trek alone."_

\- **The Bloom of Lovegarden,**  
****

**BOOK THREE**

Prince Kenma does not bother with the flashy pleasantries or garish entrances. He is simple. He does not flaunt his gold or parade his fame. A humble man with no taste for senseless vanity.

It was the first Takeda had heard of the palace speak of a suitor without mistrust or trepidation. It was first Takeda had chosen not to suspect their reception - no matter how eerily genial. But he too, finds himself at lost for grievances. Not when the man presents himself without care, without pretence. 

"It's a tiresome endeavour." The prince claims. "No use in squandering my efforts for applause."

"How inspiring." Takeda muses in genuine appreciation. A candid company is better than a flock of masked peers. Prince Kenma likes to think the same. He wouldn't have abandoned his fancy throne to sit in the duller cushions if he thought otherwise.

"I must warn you. There is still a need to impress me."

Two thin brows arch to greet the midnight's hush.

"I assume you wish to talk about Shouyou?"

Prince Kenma thumps a finger atop the brim of his chalice. "I've been told the new tutor is sharp-witted." 

Takeda raises his glass of liquor, "It's simply experience. Suitors have their own tactics to win. Befriending the tutor is one of them."

"I do hope you don't think of me that way." A song reminiscent of hazy summer reverberates around them. It slurs and hitches, the wiry voices mingling to create an oddly pleasant melody. "I'm just fascinated. Shouyou has always said so much of many people. But there's not a name more highly praised than yours."

The older blinks, taken aback. "I didn't think I was _that_ good of a teacher."

"No need to be surprised, sensei." Prince Kenma tuts. "Not many teachers invest in the lives of their students. Much less value them as their own."

"But see, I haven't really done much-"

"Your pupils are the only ones allowed to judge that. From what I've heard, they have yet to write a complaint. Surely, that counts for something?"

Short of rebuttals, Takeda decides to relent. "Then, I'm glad I've been helpful."

A confident guffaw meanders around their quiet space. It intrudes, much like a phantom and loiters in the silence that hangs above their heads. Takeda notices the prince's movements, how he turns, almost instantly, to the silvery notes of Shouyou's laughter.

Takeda has witnessed many men waver in the presence of a beautiful maiden. He has heard ladies giggle about a fair and handsome bachelor. _Yearning_ is a word he often observes. Present among the youth and even in the aged. But there are some _longings_ that pose a rare tinge of emotion. Almost like a _specially-crafted_ feeling that is not quite the same as the others.

When Takeda sees the glint of the prince's eyes, he sees the same _longing_ kindle.

So he warns, intent on erasing false hopes, "Shouyou has much to explore and live. It may take more than a month, a year or even a decade. Do you think you would be able to wait?"

The prince turns to him, firm in his beliefs as he answers, with unerring conviction, "Faithfully."

*

("Haven't you heard? They say the last prince is yet to consider a suitor.

"Why else would he stall?"

"Apparently the palace has allowed him to embark on a journey. It may take a while before he decides to marry. If he even plans to, that is."

"He better hope someone's willing to wait for him.")

*

Love is an endless bloom.

But some do not blossom until the last days of Spring.

Still, Takeda waits. Perhaps, whatever love the last bloom bears, is just as divine as the others.

*

_Sensei,_

_I am sure you have heard that the King is in dire need of your aid. I refuse to waste my time or my rose-scented papers on writing you lengthy paragraphs. So, allow me to be as concise with my words as possible._

_As you may know by now, the King is blessed with four, wonderful grandchildren (though I much prefer the term gremlins). You might have noticed that they are not exactly progressing in their studies. It is of utmost importance that their brains are set right before our brother's coronation._

_We fear that three months may not be enough for these gremlins to learn some proper manners (I assure you I have been nothing but strict with them, but it seems to rear a child often means one parent is sure to screw up). However, with your expert help, we believe we may be able to end this nightmare._

_Rest assured, the children are not as horrible as the rumours say ( they are much, much more horrifying than what the rumours say)._

_Sincerely,_

_Your students_

_(But mostly Kei)_

*

Hence, the garden waits anew.

**Author's Note:**

> reasons for inactivity: this, and dumb classes, 
> 
> take care flowers! <3


End file.
